


three times i've loved you

by AlasPoorAndy



Category: Bandom, The Who
Genre: Angst, Communication Breakdown, Consent, Cuddling, Drugs, Everyone Is Gay, Fighting, Fluff, Foul Language, Gay, Humour, Kissing, M/M, Multiple chapters, Oral, Sex, Slow Burn, Unrequited Love, don't go in the green room after these guys, drunk, eventually there's sex, m/m - Freeform, physical violence, the exorcist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2016-03-30
Packaged: 2018-05-29 11:52:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6373660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlasPoorAndy/pseuds/AlasPoorAndy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>three times pete was rejected by roger, sort of</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> there's four parts to this story, i'll add them over the next few days. if you're reading this, i love you!

1-

It was three in the bloody morning in the particularly warm March of 1969, just as Roger’s giant birthday party was winding down to an end. The four bandmates and a few other friends had collapsed lazily over the furniture in the secluded study of Roger’s house. They wanted some peace and quiet from the blaring music downstairs and enjoyed a nice chat, all of them still hazy from the heavy drinking and drugs they had taken to get the party started hours ago.

Keith and John were curled up on the settee, Keith already passed out and John looking green and disoriented. The birthday boy was curled up on top of a large desk, chatting happily to no one in particular. He swears he never drinks or uses drugs, but it seemed that he broke that rule for his festivities and drank plenty in celebration. It was funny to Pete, who watched him unravel completely after only two drinks. Roger was on a rambling monologue talking about god knows what, giggling to himself in between stories. Pete, who was feeling warm and relaxed, lay curled up on his side in a small armchair, quietly listening to the other man. In the early hours of that morning after the adrenaline and craziness was slowly starting to wear off, there was a comfortable and amicable silence in the room as people started to doze off or enjoy the final moments of their high. 

“Personally, I think that the…uh, the big, um, houses? You know the houses they live in?”

“Whose houses?” Pete interjected.

“The ants. Where the ants live. The ones I was telling you about.” Roger furrowed his eyebrows.

“They don’t have houses, do they?” 

“Everyone’s gotta have a house, dummy.”

“What do they call them?” Pete rubbed his eyes, yawning. “Mountains? No, hills. Ant hills. Ants live in hills, the crazy buggers.”

Roger found that particularly funny, laughing quite loudly. “Buggers! Because they’re bugs! You’re a genius!”

“Well, I know that, but why were we talking about ants again? I thought you were talking about your seventh birthday or something,” Pete questioned, unsure of where the conversation had ended up. There had been an anecdote about a childhood birthday and then a bike his uncle had bought him, something about ants getting into the ice cream, and that’s the last that Pete remembered. As hilarious as it was listening to a piss-drunk Roger trying to carry a conversation, it was hard to follow, especially so late after a huge party like that.

“I think it was….um….I don’t quite remember, I don’t think. No.” Roger was laughing again, more of a giggle, and nearly rolled off the top of the writing desk in attempt to stretch out like a cat. Now Pete was laughing, and Roger started laughing harder, and he actually rolled off the desk this time.

“Could you please shut the fuck up?” John moaned from the back of the room.

The two men stifled their childish giggles, but Roger got up and teetered over to where their guests had been lounging, half asleep. “I love you all, you know,” Roger announced.

“Mmm, love you too, happy birthday, lad,” a girl who was resting on the piano bench by the window mumbled drowsily. Pete met her earlier but already forgot her name by the time he had had a third round of drinks and was watching Keith try to slide down the bannister of the big staircase upside down. 

The boy next to her, whose name was probably Michael, chimed in with a laugh as well. “Are you getting sappy now? Go to bed, mate.”

“No, I really gotta tell you all. I love you. You’ve made my birthday this year a happy one.” Roger stumbled over to where Keith was curled up, sound asleep, the most quiet he had been all night. Roger ruffled his hair, and Keith didn’t even stir. “Keith, you sweet little man, thank you for making me laugh so hard I sprayed my drink out of my nose earlier.”

“He can’t hear you,” John grumbled. “But I’ll tell him you said that whenever he wakes up.”

“Thank you, John,” Roger beamed. “You’re the most thoughtful friend I’ve ever had, and I care about you, and I love you.”

“Oh, stop,” John swatted him away, but was smiling. “Do you always get affectionate when you’re drunk?”

“I’m always like this, I’m not even that drunk. I’ve hardly had anything. I just love my friends so much,” Roger proclaimed, obviously drunk. He leaned forward and gave John a big, sloppy kiss on the lips to prove it.

“Oh, god—“ John leapt up and bent over the back of the settee and literally puked. “I’m never drinking ever again, I swear for real this time…”

“Shit, you must be a bloody awful kisser,” Pete started laughing again. 

Roger was trying to kiss that bloke Michael or whoever, but he pushed him away. “Oh, come on, I like ya but I’m not a fuckin’ poof.” Pete frowned, and drew his knees closer to his chest. 

“You know you love me,” Roger teased, not taken aback at all. He surveyed the room, skipping over the girl passed out at the piano. He spotted Pete and smiled widely. “Petey!”

“No, no kissing, no thank you,” Pete warned, but it was too late. His insufferable bandmate was walking over with arms outstretched.

“C’mon!” Roger playfully tried to hug him and made loud squeaking kissing noises. Pete pushed him away, laughing. The two were drunken, giggling messes but at the time it was the funniest goddamn thing in the world. “C’mere, Petey, you’re my best friend in the whole world and I love you!”

“Christ, mate, you need better friends, then--” Pete teased, and then just like that, in the random off-beat moment, Roger caught him with his guard down and swooped in to kiss him, grabbing both sides of Pete’s face and smashing their teeth together.

“Fuckmf—“ 

Roger tasted like every drink at a whole fucking bar, and his hands were rough but held Pete’s face carefully. It felt like just a second too long, and Pete realized he was counting the seconds, and he also realized he was grabbing Roger’s shirt with a thumb and index finger to keep him close.

And then Roger pulled away entirely, his hands and lips being yanked from Pete’s, and the whole thing was over completely. Pete sat quietly, still feeling how Roger’s shirt slid out from his fingers. 

“This is a bloody amazing birthday,” Roger shouted at the ceiling for literally no reason.

“Didn’t know you were a queer, though,” Pete instinctively hopped on the bandwagon, needed to cover his arse and also judge Roger’s reaction. He felt guilty for enjoying himself just then.

“Alcohol makes me feel so good,” Roger sighed, hugging himself. He walked over to look out the window. “Now I see why you lot drink all the time.”


	2. two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> just guys bein' dudes

2-

“Rog, I’m telling you, you’re gonna love it,” Pete enthused in the car ride over to the studio.

“Honestly, my mind was blown at the end,” Pete whispered in between takes in the recording studio.

“We gotta get there early so we can get the best seat, you’ll want the perfect view of the screen,” Pete told him over the phone.

“The production quality is absolutely amazing, you won’t believe it,” Pete was practically bouncing with delight in the back of the cab they shared, en route to the cinema.

“I dunno, are you sure I won’t be too scared?” Roger asked. He was being a good sport about coming to see it, but he was still very wary.

“You’ll be fine, probably,” Pete winked. They got out a few minutes later, paying the cabbie. Outside the cinema, Pete stood, arms outstretched as if he had just found Valhalla under the marquee that advertised in huge block letters, “THE EXORCIST”. 

“Ah, jeez,” Roger laughed, even though he knew in twenty minutes he would be stuck in a dark theatre, terrified beyond belief.

Pete linked his arm through Roger’s and practically dragged him in. He bought both of their tickets, ignoring Roger’s joke about how it looked like Pete was taking him out for a date. The two found the best seats in the theatre, thanks to Pete’s long legs climbing over the seats and checking the view in the middle of each row until he found the perfect spot for Roger and himself. It was relatively empty at the 10 pm showing, so their chances of being recognized from the band were low. Roger looked over at Pete during the previews, who was buzzing like a kid on Christmas. It was sweet that he wanted to share something he loved so much with Roger.

Actually, scratch that. Over two hours later, when the credits rolled, Roger was about ready to murder Pete with his bare hands, which had turned cold and clammy with fear. “Why the hell did you show this to me?” he cried. “That was absolutely disturbing!”

Pete responded with a roar of delighted laughter.

It was past midnight when they left the small theatre. The night was warm so they decided to walk home. Pete was full of adrenaline, trying to have a heated discussion about the key plot points or use of special effects with Roger. Roger, however, was spooked by every shadow or noise as they walked through the empty streets back through to Roger’s neighbourhood.

Pete had delivered Roger to his door, but there was a moment of hesitation before Roger unlocked his front door. Roger looked nervous.

“Could you…uh…” Roger mumbled. “Come inside real quick?”

“What? You scared of demons appearing in your house after you’re gone for a few hours?”

“Piss off. Just come in and have a drink and we can talk about the movie some more.”

“Jeez, this really sounds like every first date I’ve ever been on,” Pete laughed, pretending to shudder as Roger got his keys and unlocked the front door. Roger looked back and glared at him jokingly.

There was a brief moment in the hallway while they were unlacing there shoes and before Roger turned on the light. Pete kneeled down to untie his laces and held his breath for a moment, letting a heavy silence fall between them. Then he let a blood curdling scream. 

“FUCK—“ Roger literally jumped a few feet in the air, his voice going high pitched and screechy. Pete had fallen backwards on his heels and landed on his arse, laughing so hard he thought he might rupture something.

“I swear to fucking god, Townshend…” Roger was seething as he groped the wall to find the light switch. 

“Oh god, Rog, I’m sorry,” he clutched his stomach, howling. “I just had to.”

“I trusted you!” Roger wailed dramatically. He extended a hand to help Pete stand up, then punched him in the arm. “Fuck you.”

“Let Jesus fuck you, let Jesus fuck you. Let him fuck you.”

“Stop that!” Roger covered his ears.

Pete wiped a stray tear from his eye, then patted Roger on the shoulder. “I just had to do it that one time. I’m sorry, mate,” he grinned. “Come on, let’s get a beer.”

Later, they had settled down on the couch with cold beers. Roger had insisted on turning on all the lights and keeping the telly on for reassuring background noise. Roger was still jittery and Pete was still feeling confident. They chatted aimlessly, about unimportant things they were watching. It was nearly two in the morning, and they were both tired. Yet there was a wonderful ease between the two of them, a rare moment that they never seemed to have time for anymore. They didn’t have to think about anything, and just enjoyed each other’s company.

As one re-run ended and segued into the next, Roger reached over to grab a worn blanket. He moved closer to Pete so the blanket could cover both of them. In return, Pete grabbed both of their empty bottles and put them aside on the coffee table. It was effortless. Nothing to think about.

Yeah, they were pressed closely together, side by side. And sure, it felt natural to be melting into each other. But that’s just because they were really good friends. It felt natural because they were friends and they had good platonic chemistry, and Pete had a platonic friendly crush on his best friend, just like he always fell into in high school and art college. 

Okay, fine, Pete was admiring how the blue glow of the telly looked nice against Roger’s distinct features, making him look dramatic and artsy. Because they were such good friends, Pete rested his head against Roger’s curls. In response to Pete’s purely friendly and platonic gesture, Roger cozied in against his taller friend, relaxing into the crook of Pete’s neck. He didn't even think about the kiss they had shared at Roger's birthday.

So platonic. Just blokes being blokes.

Pete felt so platonic and neutral towards his bandmate that he held his breath, as if any sudden movement would send Roger away. He sat stiffly, and focused on Roger’s worn blue jeans and how much character they had with their rips and tears and occasional ink mark. 

At around four in the morning, Pete had actually dozed off, still leaning against his friend. He was waken only once Roger moved suddenly, as if he had realized something. He watched as Roger removed himself from Pete’s side and went to turn off the telly. Pete frowned at the cold Roger had created, and the dark living room. 

Roger stood in the dark by the telly for a moment. Pete crossed his fingers under the blanket, hoping he was in for a treat. 

Carefully, Roger walked over to the lamp on the side table and turned it on, ruining the intimate haziness with harsh light. He chewed on his bottom lip nervously.

Pete rubbed his eye, working the technique he usually did on dates. “It’s late, I oughta head home…”

“No, it’s okay,” Roger said. Pete’s heart skipped a million beats. Roger reached over to the other armchair and tossed a couple of pillows at Pete. “You can crash on the couch if you want, it’s too late to be outside. I’ll head upstairs. Goodnight.”

Roger nodded at him, giving Pete a weird smile that was probably meant to be reassuring before bounding up the stairs, two at a time. Pete sat on the couch, dazed from the sudden harshness of the light and Roger’s departure. It was like being at his cousin’s house again as a kid, always left behind to sleep on the couch downstairs alone. Pete grumbled, reaching over to turn off the lamp again. Maybe he’d have better luck next time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey everyone! so i had already written chapters 1, 3, and 4 like a breeze, but 2 was giving me the most trouble, hence the delay. but this work is finished and i have four other fics on the back burner right now too. i hope you guys like them! subscribing would mean a lot. i'm trying to revive the fan fic scene for the Who fans, i think it's really important to keep it going and keep providing fresh material, from ridiculously out of character crack fics, to angst, to gratuitous sex scenes. viva la fandom!


	3. three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> oh boy (nsfw)

They had spent over eighteen hours in the bloody recording studio, struggling with writing and rewriting and re-recording this one bloody song in the middle of their bloody tour. Every band member and their production team were stressed beyond belief. Everyone was tired and overworked. At this point, Pete was just ready to scrap the song and get on with his life, but Kit was pushing them to finish because they were behind schedule. 

They sat around a small square table in a workroom, up to their ankles in scrapped papers filled with rejected ideas. Kit had left to make phone calls and Keith had dozed off in the chair next to them, which was better because he had been starting to get on their nerves with his constant fidgeting. Roger and Pete often verbally abused each other during this part of the stressful process—they all took their anger out on each other at one point, but this was different. Their anger was only for the studio. The band needed to be upfront and honest with each other if they were going to keep working together, even if that includes childish name calling. Each insult was always laced with some sort of truth. Outside, in real life, they let go of any petty work drama. Usually.

“Fuck this song,” Roger grabbed the papers with the half-finished lyrics and crumpled them up.

“Fuck you,” Pete growled from across the table. “Quit being such a diva and pull your fucking weight.”

“Girls, not now,” John sighed. “We can’t keep wasting time.”

“I’m so fucking tired, can you lot just finish already so everyone can go home?” Roger tossed the crumpled papers over to the other band members in resignation.

“Hey, you’re part of this, too,” Pete threw the balls of paper back, aiming for his face.

“Stop saying that, we all know you’re going to disappear for hours to work on your own, and we’re only going to use your ideas, just like always.”

“We’re all sitting at a table together to collaborate, are you fucking blind?” Pete shouted at him. “Maybe if you weren’t an egotistical nightmare to work with, you could contribute more.”

“For fuck’s sakes, Pete—“ John groaned.

“Then you should stop taking over and controlling everything like a fucking maniac,” Roger shouted back.

“I would if you’d take our music seriously. You only show up to record your parts, and then sing them onstage half naked and twirling your hair like a little bitch.”

“You are so fucking immature,” Roger stood up to leave. “I’m fucking sick of you, Townshend.”

“You’re not leaving!” Pete ordered as he sprang up from his chair. He grabbed Roger’s shoulder roughly because the two of them were just dying for a proper fight to clear the air. And Roger, always reliable, responded with a swinging right hook, cracking his knuckles against the bottom of Pete’s jaw. God, he adored that man. The blow filled Pete with a surge of adrenaline, turning into anger and even inspired a perverted arousal. He had been dreaming of nothing but getting his hands on the insufferable bastard and beating him into submission, in one way or another. 

“Don’t you fucking start this again!” John shouted at them, but it was too late. Pete had already answered with a punch to Roger’s (muscular and defined) stomach. Roger kneed him in the crotch. Pete, with the advantage of being taller, folded over Roger and caught him in a headlock and the smaller man squirmed under him. 

Poor John was tasked with pulling the two apart and holding them by the back of their shirt collars like a scorned mother. Keith didn’t even stir from his sleep. This wasn’t out of the ordinary in the middle of a demanding tour. “Jesus Christ, you two are the worst. Go into the green room and don’t come back until you’re mature enough to work again.” 

And with that, they were shoved outside and the door was locked behind them. The two didn’t waste any time getting to the green room next door to continue beating the shit out of each other. They closed the door to the green room, which was cramped with dingy old couches and arm chairs. 

“You are so fucking pretentious,” Pete landed a punch, carefully avoiding Roger’s nose and eye. “And intolerable.”

“You’re so fucking bitter all the time,” Roger swung again, missing his target and clipping Pete’s nose, not that it was hard to miss. Blood started trickling out a split second later. “Oh, fuck. I didn’t mean to do that.”

“Fuck you!” Pete wiped the stream of blood away but it kept flowing steadily. He grabbed a fistful of Roger’s (beautiful, soft) blond hair and yanked it down, eliciting a delightful cry from the other man. “We’re supposed to be friends. Friends are more civil than this.”

Roger grabbed the arm and tugged himself free, before twisting Pete’s wrist violently. “You just make me so goddamn angry sometimes.” 

Pete cursed and tore his arm away. He pushed Roger against the wall, pinning both of his wrists up beside his head to restrain him. For added security, he pinned Roger’s torso against the wall by pressing his hips against him, one leg between his crotch threateningly, and brought his face in uncomfortably close. For once, the two of them had nothing to say to each other.

He was close enough to feel Roger’s chest rise and fall quickly as they both regained their breath. Pete let the blood trickle down from his nose freely. He still had anger coursing through him that he needed to expel, but they were too caught up in the moment, glaring at each other.

“Go ahead, hit me again,” Roger taunted. “You called me a little bitch. Treat me like one.”

Pete pressed closer against him, now chest to chest. “You called me a maniac. I might just act like one.”

Roger was looking up at him in a way that made him feel uneasy, but not necessarily in a bad way. Pete figured it was now or never. He was out of his wits. His mind was buzzing. He was over tired. There were many ways he could make excuses after the fact, so he decided to go through with his plan he had been fantasizing about all week. Pete slowly let go of one wrist, wiped the sticky blood from his nose, and his right hand travelled to wrap around the base of Roger’s throat, smearing some red on the other man’s shirt. There was plenty of time for Roger to object, to say no, to fight back and leave. But there was something in the way he kept his eyes locked on Pete’s, arching his neck to expose more skin as if inviting him in. 

He didn’t choke him with the intent to asphyxiate him, which was established between the two of them when Pete applied a slight pressure to his throat. Just enough to send the message clear, to show who was dominating. Something in the way Roger’s tongue darted out quickly to lick his bottom lip made Pete want to bite that place on his soft skin, so he leaned in and did exactly that. 

Roger made a noise that heavily implied enjoyment, not torture; something between a sexual moan and a gasp of surprise. 

Pete bit down on Roger’s bottom lip and scraped his teeth along the skin, drawing blood so the two of them matched. Pete licked the cherry coloured drop before placing his mouth on Roger’s. Then they were kissing each other deeply, which quickly turned as intense as their fight before. It didn’t make sense, and Pete couldn’t believe it was finally happening again, and it all happened too fast before they knew what they were doing but it was all so fucking worth it, even if that meant getting in trouble later. Pete moved his left hand to grab more of Roger’s hair, and now that the other man had both arms free again, he wrapped his arms around Pete’s waist to pull him even closer.

Pete really, really couldn’t believe they were finally doing it. 

Kissing got rough, but they couldn’t get rough enough, so Roger broke the kiss to land a hard bite on Pete’s neck. Pete threw his head back with a low groan. It was almost as if Roger knew exactly what made him wild; the bastard always knew how to wind him up. As a reward, Pete shoved his thigh up against Roger’s crotch to give him something to grind against. He was surprised to feel that the other man was hard already. That was when Pete absolutely lost it. 

The whole process wasn’t unfamiliar to Pete; he had been in this position many times before. It was one of his favourite situations to be in. He knew he was be well versed enough to make it good for Roger, give him something to remember for their first time. Pete kissed viciously down Roger’s neck, then his chest, then his stomach, until he was on his knees in front of the other man, like he’d always dreamed of.

Pete had barely undone Roger’s belt and trousers before Roger was already angling his hips to Pete’s face. Pete wasted no time pulling down his boxers and grabbing hold of Roger’s rather impressive endowment. He started with a long lick from bottom to top, eliciting a moan from up above. Pete went to work on sucking the tip and then swallowing him inch by inch. In response to how quickly he was working, Roger grabbed the hair at the back of Pete’s head and pushed him down farther until he gagged.

His knees ached, his jaw was sore and his eyes were watering, but it was simultaneously the best feeling in the world. Being face fucked, especially by Roger, was absolutely extraordinary. They were finally doing this. Pete thought about what it would be like afterwards, when Roger touched him back, and how they’d kiss again and hold each other and finally things would be right.

“Oh, fuck, Pete…” Roger choked out. Pete looked up to catch Roger wiping the blood from off his lip and chin, which shouldn’t have been sexy but definitely was. With his mouth full, Pete moaned and quickened the pace of his mouth and hands, until Roger’s knees were shaking and he covered his own mouth to keep from screaming.   
With one last rough thrust into Pete’s mouth, Roger came with a low guttural moan, spilling onto Pete’s lips and chin, mingling with the dried bloody nose he had given him only minutes before. 

Pete stood up, smiling with pride as he swiped his thumb across his chin and licked up Roger’s remnants. He was aching for his turn now, watching as Roger quickly stuffed himself back into his trousers. Pete leaned forward to kiss him again, but caught an expression on Roger’s face that he couldn’t decipher. Guilt? Embarrassment? Regret? Shame? Roger paused, then looked away quickly, cleared his throat and left the green room quietly, shutting the door softly behind him.

Pete hadn’t even caught his breath yet, his own arousal now turning uncomfortable. He sat on one of the dingy armchairs, feeling his stomach sink to his feet. Roger encouraged him to continue, it wasn’t as if he was forcing himself. At what point did it stop being a sexy act of passion and turn into a regretful one? 

Pete buried his face in his hands, the thoughts in his mind already spiraling downwards. 

slut whore over-easy bitch he’s never going to love you now no one’s going to love you not when you’re that easy he’s probably disgusted by a fag like you you ruined everything between you two your friendship is over the song is doomed the tour will be cancelled it’s all your fault you did this it’s your fault for feeling this way about him the way you feel is wrong what you did was wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what a thrilling ride! subscribe for more because i have a lot coming! pun not intended


	4. oh, it's four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the epic conclusion

Pretending he was back to normal took every ounce of strength and energy he had. He maintained a poker face for meetings and interviews and rehearsals until it was time to run to the comfort and solitude of his own home. 

He didn’t acknowledge Roger whatsoever. He wasn’t cold, nor passive aggressive; out of his humiliation he treated Roger as if he were nothing but the fake decorative plant in the back of the room. Only in a professional context did he refer to him as “the singer” or “Daltrey”. Roger didn’t interfere with him either, but he did not know if it was out of spite or confusion. Pete forced himself not to care and he focused on healing the pain in his chest that never wanted to go away.

His other bandmates definitely noticed the coldness between the two men who used to be best friends. Or were they still friends? Would they pull through? Or was that the final straw? It hurt to even consider Roger not wanting to be part of his life again, but Pete figured he may as well ditch the optimism for a dose of reality. He avoided drinks at the pub with the band after rehearsals or hanging out with them on the weekends, and he was back to his days where his mind went dark and cloudy and he lost track of the hours with just a bit too much to drink on his own.

He was trying to focus on the telly one night but his eyes kept going in and out of focus, thanks to the bottle of whiskey he had bought on his way home from the studio. He wasn’t well enough to get up and answer whoever was knocking at the door, but the person was knocking urgently. Pete groaned and struggled to pick himself up and trod to the door. He looked and felt disgusting. 

Unlatching the lock and opening the door slightly, Pete could see that Keith was waiting on his doorstep in the dark, shivering. “Pete, let me in, mate.”

He opened the door and let his friend in, instinctively worrying that something had gone wrong and that Keith was in danger. Keith shuffled inside and wiped his boots on the carpet before taking them off. “Jesus, Pete. No offense, but you look fucking terrible.”

“Yeah, well.” Pete mumbled. “Are you okay?”

“Mate, I’m here to see if you’re okay. Me an’ John were worried you were going to rot away over the weekend. Can I come in?” Keith asked, patting Pete’s shoulder with a cold hand and walking into the living room anyways. He found the whiskey and confiscated it, drinking it himself instead.

Pete went back to his armchair and curled his body up tightly under his blanket. Keith took the couch and stretched his legs out. They sat in comfortable silence for a bit, watching the ridiculous commercials roll one after another. It wasn’t until the documentary Pete was watching played its final scene and then showed the credits that Keith broke the silence. “You and Rog are fuckin’ nuts. What did he do, murder your family?”

Pete glared at him.

“You two act like something dramatic happened. Did he give you herpes? Have sex and then never call you back?”

Pete knew he was joking but just stared at him expressionless nonetheless. If he guessed correctly, he wouldn’t even cover it up. It was a humiliating experience and he needed to vent and get sympathy. 

“Seriously, Pete. Tell me.”

Pete averted his eyes.

“Pete.”

He remained silent.

“Pete, for fuck’s sakes. We’re not in primary school, you can’t just ignore each other. Things are fucking awkward and tense, more than before. Whatever happened, you two need to sort it out before our whole band goes down like a lead zeppelin. Me an’ John will do anything you guys need to help figure things out, yeah?”

Pete groaned and buried his face in his knees. Keith, ever loyal Keith, was by his side in a moment to rest a reassuring hand on his shoulder. 

“It’s okay, mate. You’re not doomed. There’s always something you can do,” Keith told him.

“Keith, I fucked up. I did something…stupid, and I think I ruined things.” Pete said quietly.

“Mate, I know you’re worried, but it wasn’t the final blow.” Pete snorted. Keith looked down at him. “Whatever you did, Rog looks proper miserable too. He’s moping all the time, regretting stuff. The both of you look like two parents going through a divorce.”

“Is he actually?” Pete asked. “Like, actually miserable?”

“Yeah, and you shouldn’t sound so excited at that,” Keith told him.

“No, that’s…that’s good. I thought for sure he was angry.”

“Maybe that means he feels guilty about what happened?” Keith offered. “I think it’s worth seeing him to talk. He looks just as bad as you but both of you refuse to say anything about what happened.”

Pete felt overwhelmed. He wanted to run over in his pyjamas right now and see if they could make up and he could apologize for being a disgusting pervert, but his brain vehemently opposed and continued to tell himself he was just going to make things worse.

“Pete, I think you should do it.” Keith helped Pete stand up. “Go get dressed. Actually, holy shit. Take a shower first. Eat something. I’ll drive you over on my way home.”

*

Shortly after, Pete came down the stairs, clean shaven and in a fresh shirt. He was slowly sobering up, but still had the drunken confidence he needed. Keith was in his kitchen, digging through his empty cupboards. “Do you seriously not have anything to eat? How are you not dead yet?”

“It’s been a rough week,” Pete answered, putting on his jacket. “You ready?”

“Yeah, I’m coming,” Keith joined him in putting on his boots and coat and they went out to Keith’s car together. 

“Thank you again, mate. I need this,” Pete said quietly as they drove through the dark neighbourhoods. The world seemed too quiet, as if also anxiously awaiting a huge fight to break out. Pete chewed nervously on his knuckle, his mind working itself to death by imagining every possible scenario and how it could go wrong. Pete weighed the risk of jumping out of a moving vehicle and trying to run back home, but he knew Keith would be right back to shove him back in the car and try again. 

He felt nauseous as they pulled into Roger’s driveway. He hadn’t been over since what seemed like centuries ago. Things were so much simpler then.

Keith walked him up to the door and they knocked, waiting for Roger to answer. “Remember, you don’t need to worry about anything. Just apologize to each other,” Keith instructed.

Roger opened the door a few moments later, surprised to see Pete, and more surprised to see him being held hostage by Keith. “What’s going on here?”

Keith pushed Pete inside. “You two are going to forgive each other already. No more petty drama. We’re all going to be mates again.”

Pete stood awkwardly in Roger’s doorway. Roger stood as far away from Pete as possible. Keith barged in too. 

“The last time we left you alone to sort out your problems you just made things worse. I’m going to step in and play the marriage counsellor,” Keith announced, looking pleased with himself.

Roger looked worried. “No, that won’t be necessary. Me and Pete need to do this privately.”

Oh, great. Roger was going to shoo away any witnesses so he could murder Pete and dispose of his body alone.

Keith frowned. “Are you sure? I swear, if—“

“We’re sure,” Pete snapped, then smiled apologetically. “Just leave us to get things done.”

“Thanks, Keith. We’ll be in touch,” Roger started politely shoving Keith back out the door.

“Hey, what the hell—“ Keith protested.

“Thanks, Keith, drive safe,” Pete called out as the door shut. Roger and Pete stood, awkwardly as ever, avoiding each other’s eye and trying to ignore the gigantic fucking elephant in the room. 

“Erm,” Roger started to say something but clamped his mouth shut.

Pete was surged with adrenaline, but not the good kind like last time. He felt cold and was shaking in his boots and jacket. He remained planted firmly in Roger’s hallway so he could apologize and then run away, leave the country, and change his name to start a new life. 

“I’m, um,” Pete started, his voice shaky. He cleared his throat.

“I just—“ Roger started.

Pete stammered uncontrollably, feeling nervous and sick. “I’m sorry for being a pervert, it was completely out of line, I shouldn’t have molested you, please don’t tell anyone I’m a fag or they’ll kill me, you don’t have to talk to me ever again, I just wanted you to know I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry for ruining everything between us, I won’t bother you ever again, I swear, please don’t call the police, I’ll pay you anything you want to keep quiet—“ 

“Stop, shut up, oh my god Pete,” Roger looked guilty yet intrigued, just like that night. “Don’t. I’m not going to call the police or anything. Just, um.”

Pete only felt slightly better. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please forgive me.”

“Pete, stop, I need to say something too. You never let me talk.”

“I’m sorry—“

“Pete.”

Roger put a hand on Pete’s arm to get him to stop talking, but they both knew that was a bad idea, so he retracted it quickly. “Go sit down. Take a breath.”

Pete hung his head and walked into the living room, sitting awkwardly on Roger’s couch. Roger took another chair and sat facing him.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about, you know…” Roger said gently after some deliberate thinking.

“When I gave you a blow job?” Pete offered, figuring they didn’t have much to be coy about.

Roger looked down quickly. “Yeah. Well, the whole thing, actually. The fight, the kissing. You know.”

“And then when you just left me there on my knees? And then never talked to me again?” Pete felt his anxiety slowly bubble into anger. This wasn’t entirely his fault, in hindsight.

“Pete…” Roger started, a mix of anger and guilt. “It was confusing. I was confused. Everything happened so fast, you gotta understand…”

“Yeah, we drunkenly kiss, you cuddle up to me, you fuck my mouth and then pretend you were just a confused straight boy—“

“Pete, stop.”

“You aren’t to blame, you were just being friendly, you were lonely, you were curious, and it was my fault I thought anything more of it.”

“Seriously, Pete. Stop.”

“Don’t act like you didn’t know what you were doing this whole time.”

“You’re right, I knew exactly what I was doing,” Roger said. “I let it all happen.”

“And?” Pete was shouting now. “You let that happen, and fucking humiliate me like that? Act like it never happened? Fuck you.”

“Fuck you.”

“I’d bash your fucking head in right now, except you’d probably get it up,” Pete spat.

“Pete!” Roger cried. “Calm the fuck down. I’m not finished yet.”

“Why should I let you keep wasting my time?”

“Because I wanted to apologize to you this whole time,” Roger pleaded. “Stop being a bugger for five seconds and let me try to explain.”

“Go on, fucking explain yourself,” Pete sat back and crossed his arms.

Roger composed himself for a moment, letting his anger settle. “Look, I got carried away. I was enjoying myself this whole time. It felt so natural, I just did what felt right. But when I…you know, finished, and you looked at me with that goddamn look you always give me, and you were ready to kiss… I got freaked out. You were really invested. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“Meaning you…weren’t invested?” Pete asked quietly.

“I…” Roger sighed. “I don’t know. I care about you so much. I’m just not, you know…”

“Gay.” Pete interrupted unimpressed, hearing that line a million times before. 

“Yeah. I mean, I’m attracted to girls. Not guys. I’ve always known.”

“But you did stuff your cock in my mouth and cum down my throat,” Pete said. “And I’m a proper bloke.”

“Stop being so crude!” Roger complained.

“Sorry, you made love to my mouth,” Pete rolled his eyes. “Either way, you really enjoyed being with a man.”

“I dunno. Maybe it’s just not all men in general, it’s just…”

“Just what?”

Roger looked frustrated with himself. “It’s just you, you know? I’ve never been interested in anything with another man, but you’re not like that. I—oh, come on, you look like a deer in the headlights. Stop looking at me like that.”

Pete blinked, not entirely sure this was real life and actually happening. “It’s just me?”

“Uh. Yeah, so far, I guess.”

“You actually liked all the stuff I did to you?”

“Yeah. A lot.”

“Oh.” Pete’s cheeks started burning.

“It was a little sudden, though. I mean, I definitely wanted it. I wouldn’t have stopped you. But it was sudden.”

“I’m sorry I got carried away. It was sort of the hottest thing ever.”

“Am I…” Roger looked nervous. “Does that make me gay? Should I tell someone?”

“I mean, I think you can go a bit both ways. That’s what I do.”

Roger frowned. “But I’ve never wanted to have a cock in my bum or anything, I don’t think that makes me gay.”

“Well, you’re definitely not a top.”

“A top? What does that mean?”

“Never mind that. I’ll show you another time,” Pete brushed it off. There was an ease between them now. Roger had liked it. Roger derived enjoyment from what Pete did to him. Roger is, to some capacity, queer because of Pete. Pete was so good at giving head that he turned people gay. Holy shit.

“Pete, I’m sorry,” Roger looked up at him, smiling sympathetically. “I’m an arse. I let things go too far, I over-indulged. I just didn’t know what to do. And I especially didn’t want to hurt you. So I just left. But you’re not a pervert. I’m not angry at you and your secret is safe with me.”

“You’re a coward,” Pete nodded. “But as long as you forgive me, I’m fine with just returning back to normal. This is exhausting.”

“I’d really like to go back to normal. I forgive you if you forgive me,” Roger answered, smiling.

“Alright, I forgive you so you can forgive me, are we settled?” Pete couldn’t help but smile as well. Things were looking up.

“We’re settled!” Roger smiled and extended a hand, and they shook hands very business-like, before Pete gave him a funny look. 

“Come on, we can hug, you know. I won’t suck your cock again by accident,” Pete pulled Roger in for a hug and the two of them laughed all the nervous energy away. It was nice to be back to normal, even though Pete still had blatant lust for his best friend, he could still appreciate the tender moment between the two. 

Until, of course, Roger threw a wrench into things, like the bastard always did. Mid-hug, he murmured softly, “But if that happened again, by accident, just know that I wouldn’t mind one bit.”

Pete deepened the hug, pulling Roger even closer. “Rog, I can’t read your mind. Tell me exactly what you mean.”

Roger buried his nose in Pete’s shoulder. The hug was too long, surpassing a deep intimacy and now becoming sensual. “I’d like to keep hugging you and kissing you and stuff.”

“Romantically or casually?”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

“Sex or no sex?”

Roger slipped his hands under the hem of Pete’s shirt, softly stroking the skin on his lower back. “I think I’d like to try more things.”

“You drive me absolutely crazy,” Pete put his chin on the top of the shorter man’s head, smiling. 

“I missed you,” Roger admitted quietly. 

“God, I missed you too,” Pete murmured.

“At first I felt good, because we were so comfortable with each other. We hugged, we could even share an innocent kiss here and there. It felt right. I guess I didn’t realize that I liked it because I liked you.”

“I have been waiting so long for you to say something like that, Rog,” Pete sighed. “So, so fucking long.”

Roger slowly pulled away from the hug, just to properly look Pete in the eye. Pete felt weak, watching Roger’s eyebrows furrow, deeply contemplating. 

“I’d like to take you on a date, I think,” Roger decided.

“You think?”

“Yeah, that’s what people do when they’re interested in each other, right? They share their lives and cuddle and then eventually…you know,”

“Have sex on the second date,” Pete offered.

Roger sighed. “I try to remain a classy, dignified individual, but I can’t keep shaking you from my mind. Specifically, the way you look on your knees, and when you do that thing with your mouth…”

“Roger Daltrey, I’d be happy to date you, if you let me absolutely ruin you,” Pete told him.

Roger blushed, but wound his arms tighter around Pete’s waist. “Why does that seem so exciting when you say it?”

“Oh, this is going to be quite fun.”

“I’m so glad we got this figured out. It seems so much easier now that we both know we had feelings for each other the whole time,” Roger remarked. He gently eased out of the hug and went to sit on the couch, pulling Pete down with him.

“It fucked me up because it actually meant a lot to me, you know,” Pete thought aloud.

Roger looked down, holding Pete’s hands in his. It was such an innocent moment, Pete felt his heart jump around all funny. 

Roger swallowed, looking serious. “I really care about you, about this. Can we go slow?”

Pete nodded, and lovingly stroked Roger’s hair back from his face. In any other situation, that line made him cringe. He never thought he’d be one to be in a steady relationship, taking things slow, making plans for the future and cuddling after sex. But then again, he didn’t have to consider these things with Roger. It had been there all along. “Let’s just do what feels natural,” he said, smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for the fun ride! this piece motivated me to do so much more with the characters. i have two more series planned out and a short fic. one of these will be up by tomorrow! thanks for sticking around, subscribe to see more :)


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